Mama Peregrine
by ifwednesdaywasaflowerchild
Summary: In the throes of a nightmare, Jacob wants, "Mama!" but Maryanne Portman is not the woman he reaches for. He reaches for Miss Peregrine. A series of times Jacob slipped and called Alma Peregrine, "Mom"
1. Nightmare

The first time Jacob Portman slips is in those vulnerable moments after a nightmare. It'd been a hot, sticky night and despite the noisy effort it put forth, the air conditioner did little to offer relief. He'd finally fallen asleep, after desperation had driven him to tear the comforter and sheet from his bed and dump it in a damp pile by his closet. After listening to the cicadas - odd, they weren't quite due out for a while - and hoping to the ignore the itch of sweat in his hair, he'd fallen into a restless sleep.

He'd been having them for a while.

At first, it was nothing more than a few dark shadows poking at the edges of his subconscious. But, sometimes, usually if he was embroiled in some mental battle he never spoke of, he'd see tentacles and tongues and monsters and gleaming white eyes. For a while, it was easy to hide them. Everyone had their own nightmares to worry with and telling Emma would result in a wildfire, the likes of which Florida had never been witness to.

Until, he can't hide it, anymore. Until he thrashes, flings awkward limbs around, and soaks his sheets through with sweat and he _screams._ And, it pierces the house, brings all of the peculiars out of their sleepy stupor and his parents into his room. It brings Miss Peregrine into his room.

Jacob thrashes, moans, whimpers, and eventually a single word is torn from him, as if it has been tortured out of him. "Mama."

"I'm here, baby." Maryanne sinks down onto the bed next to her son. "I'm here."

"No, get away!"

"But - "

"Get away!"

Maryanne backs away, a little frightened at her son's outburst, even as her husband reassures her that it's just his nightmare - he's asleep, doesn't know what he's doing. He whimpers again, "Mama, Mama!"

"Jake, honey, wake up." she tries again, "It's Mama. Mama's here."

"No!" Jacob's eyes open, this time, and like a child he sticks his arms out. But, it's not his mother he's reaching for. Maryanne hardens in an instant and backs away, hurt by her son's rejection.

He's reaching for Miss Peregrine.

"I'm here, Jacob." she's by his side in an instant, the sharp edge gone from her voice, and she's gathering his gangly, sweaty frame up as if he is a newborn in need of comfort. "I'm here. It will all be over in an instant. I am sure of it. You just hold onto me for now. I will stay here until this is over. Okay?"

His parents and the peculiars watch them. Alma's words seem to sink in, seem to reach that part of his brain taken over by the nightmare, and he calms almost instantly. But, she makes no move to release him, instead, she tightens her hold, and continues soothing him until he's relinquished control and is sleeping peacefully, nuzzled into her neck, arms crossed over his abdomen, and his legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

No one notices Maryanne leave the room.

* * *

 **Because after seeing the movie - holy shit, guys, Eva Green is amazing! - I kind of latched onto the idea that when Miss Peregrine created a loop in Jacob's time, in the third books, that her relationship with him shifted into something maternal and when he had nightmares, she would be the only person capable of reaching him. She's fought the monsters he has and while the others can calm him, Miss Peregrine has that maternal influence, that maternal presence that his second soul craves. Anyway. Hope you like!**


	2. Flu

He slips, again.

Not in the throes of a nightmare, but while ill with the flu. Little Olive had, had her turn with it the week before. Now, though, despite his best efforts _not_ to get it, he had been struck with it, the night before. His father's creamed spinach and lasagna returning for an encore.

Now, here he is, stuck in bed and desperate for the door not to open again. Last time, someone entered his room, it'd been with a thermometer in hand and he'd been forced to let Fiona document just how high his fever was. At least, it wasn't Emma. Compared to her, he's practically a frozen tundra. Doesn't matter who, though. He doesn't want anyone coming in. _Especially_ Miss Peregrine.

No luck, though.

The door opens with a squeak and Jake turns his face into his pillow both to hide his groan and hide from whoever was coming in. The click of shoes is familiar; slightly off-beat and a short, clipped noise instead of the stomping click of his mother's heels. His mattress dips - just barely - under her weight and he feels her hand on his shoulder.

"Will you please look at me, Jake?"

"'o 'way." in typical sixteen-year-old boy fashion, he grunts the words into his pillow.

"Now, Jacob," Alma adopts what the other peculiars have deemed her 'disappointed Mommy' voice. It's stern but loving with just enough sadness to cause a guilt trip. "I want you to look at me, this instant."

Ouch.

That is pretty damn effective.

Jake rolls over without another word of protest; heavy, drowsy eyes barely able to meet those of his mentor. "Hi."

"Hello, Jake."

Her smile is that mix of mischief and warmth and that strong maternal presence that forms an almost visible aura around her. In another life, this woman would have been a fantastic mother to her own kids. But, this is her lifetime and the peculiars are as close to children as she'll ever have, Jacob supposes.

"When I was a little girl, I had dreams of being a mother." Alma confesses, as if reading his mind. "Of course, that was never to happen but I have the peculiars and they fulfill those dreams. You do, too."

"I called you - "

"I know, Jake." her eyes dampen and she rubs soothing circles on his shoulder. "It is quite alright. You were having a nightmare. You needed comfort."

"But my Mom was there, and I..." his cheeks flush and he attempts to hide in shame. "I pushed her away."

"I have a theory about that, actually." she slips a hand into his thick, dark hair. "I think you were dreaming about a hollowghast and your peculiarity took over. You wanted someone familiar. You wanted another peculiar. I was the only other one in the room."

"But, why did I call you Mama?" Jacob looks up at her.

"I..." Alma's lost for words but it doesn't take her long. "I do not know, Jacob. But that is not important. I do know this. If you and the others are as close as I will ever know to be my children then I am a very lucky ymbryne."

Jacob shifts, tugging the blankets along with him as he curls up and rests his head in her lap. The familiar scent of smoke and tea and salt and flowers soothes him and he feels the deep ache in the back of his head subside. He slings an arm across her knees and lets himself feel like a little boy, for a moment while she rubs his head and his shoulders.

In this little moment of silence and vulnerability, Alma just catches his hoarse voice murmur, "Love you, Mama."

Tears sting her eyes.

Very lucky ymbryne, indeed.


	3. Love

For all of her ability to be sharp, so razor-like in her ability to both teach and nourish each child's peculiarity with the care they require - Alma Peregrine is pretty different once she lets you in. Multi-faceted, and some might even say, two-faced, she's a tough veneer of strength and invulnerability on the outside, but on the inside, that is where she falters. Her weakness is the same thing that makes her such a wonderful guardian.

She loves deeply.

And, love is the one thing that Jacob has always found to be fickle. He can't say with any amount of certainty that he's loved by anybody and he only truly loves a few people - Emma, Alma, and his grandpa. The distance from people keeps him safe, he supposes. For a long time, it kept him in that bubble of mundane existence. Until his grandpa's death connected him to the world - both real and surreal. Now, he's more open to love but still just as particular about _who_ receives it.

"You seem to be very particular about who you love." he watches her - the way she shifts her knees against the tight fabric of the pencil skirt, slips her hands into her pocket, undoubtedly curling her fingers around her beloved pocket-watch. The way she watches him. Like a mother watches her son. "How many, Jacob?"

"How many, what?" he squints against the afternoon sun that haloes her slim figure. She loves the sun - how it hangs in such bright contrast to her very existence. She wears darkness like a cloak, from dark hair to her dark nails to the darkness that looms in her past, shadowing her present.

"How many people do you love, Jacob?" Alma questions gently, but her sharp eyes never leave the water.

He's brought her to the beach, today.

The peculiars were intent on exploring the new world they lived in, but Jacob wanted to give Alma something familiar. The scent of salt is heavy in the air, and she's going to have to empty sand out of her heels, but she seems content all the same, lighter, free from the invisible weight that seemed to rest on her shoulders.

"Three, I suppose." Jacob shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Nobody really seems to love me so I became very careful with who I love."

"Who are they?"

"Emma, my grandpa, and - " but, he can't bring himself to say it. He has called her, "Mama", and thinks of her as more of a mother than his real mother has ever been but he still can't admit it.

"Who else?" she slips her fingers under his chin and turns his head toward her. "You can tell me, Jacob."

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes. My grandpa's death opened up a whole new world for me." Jacob releases a heavy breath. "And, you - you were the only person who seemed to understand that it was new and scary for me and you could explain things to me. The other peculiars, they knew who they were, but I didn't. You helped me. Emma did, too. But I needed - " his eyes flick away to the ocean, watching the gray froth crash against beige sand for a moment before he meets her eyes, again. "I needed a Mom. Maryann doesn't know how. But, you seemed to know, immediately. I think that's why I need you after a nightmare, why I've called you Mama."

"You are, in all ways that count, my son, Jacob." it's reassuring, yes, but for whom, neither can quite say. "I may not have given birth to you. Maryann was chosen for that honor, but the minute you stepped into my loop, and you begun thriving, you became my son. For as long as we know each other, in this loop, and in every loop after, you will be my child, just as all of the other peculiars are. I love you, Jacob Portman. I had no choice, in the matter. It simply was."

He doesn't hug her so much as crashes into her embrace, burying his face in her shoulder, and mumbling, "Love you, too." into the silky fabric of her blouse.

No.

Alma Le Fey Peregrine had no choice but to love Jacob Portman. After all, a real mother doesn't choose to love her child, she simply does.


	4. Biological - AU

Jacob Peregrine is four when his peculiarity becomes obvious. Aside from being the only known child of a ymbryne, he's got his own peculiarity, and Alma was both looking forward and dreading the day that he came into his own as a peculiar child.

It happens just as dawn arrives while she's sipping a steaming cup of tea; all floral and honey and it's not her favorite, but it's tea all the same. The first delicate tendrils of dawn are beginning to filter through the lace curtains when she hears it. The tell-tale sounds her toddler.

But, it is far too early for him to be waking. Something must be wrong - all but confirmed when she hears a frantic, "Mama!"

The cup of tea hits the floor, steaming liquid seeping into the floorboards, and she's all but sprinting to her son, only stopping to pick up her crossbow and her quiver of arrows. She flings the door open and finds him huddled against the headboard, blankets pulled tight around him.

"Jacob?"

"Mama!" Tears and sweat have glued his messy black locks to his face and his blue eyes are big and wet when he looks up at her. "Mama, monster!"

 _Hollow._

It must be.

Those nasty creatures haunted her, even though she couldn't see them, she always felt them, heard them; the creak of bones rubbing, the slither of tongues, and the threat of death in every wet hiss. But, she doesn't see the gangly shadow of one, no long thin limbs, or the disgusting sound of a slopping mouth full of tongues wriggling like snakes.

"I don't see anything." but, she's an ymbryne, a bird of prey, so she remains hyper-aware, unwilling to let anything sneak up on her and bring harm of any kind to her child. "Where is it?"

"Over there!"

His tiny little hand immediately points to the darkest corner of the room. Of course. They're nothing more than an awkward shadow to anyone without the peculiarity to see them, so they use darkness to their advantage. They're smart, that way.

"What does it look like, Jacob?" she can feel the burning itch of wings, falcon instinct clawing at her to take bird form, protect her son the way a mama peregrine protects her eyasses in the nest. "Can you see it?"

"Lots of tongues, Mama." Jacob's voice is weak, now, and Alma can just hear his teeth chattering. "It's big!"

"I know, Jake." Alma's own voice is strained. "Jacob, I'm going to do something, now. I'm going to get rid of the monster but I'd rather you didn't watch. So, do Mama a favor and cover your head with your blanket and do not come out from under your blanket until I tell you, alright?"

"Okay, Mama."

She listens to Jacob adjust himself in the bed, sparing only a glance over her shoulder to ensure her son followed her instructions. When she is certain he cannot see or hear anything, she pulls an arrow from her quiver and readies her crossbow. Her aim is vaguely upwards where it might be most effective.

With a steadying breath, she pulls the trigger.

There is a wet, gargling hiss, a thud, and in the faint stripe of dawn through his window, she can just see the grotesque shadow of what was scaring her child. The hollow has barely hit the ground before she's dropped her crossbow and is tearing through the blankets, seeking her child.

"Jacob!" she gasps in relief, pulling her four-year-old from the bed.

"Mama!"

He is sweaty, exhausted, and still trembling when she cradles him against her chest. It takes her almost an hour to soothe him, settle him down enough to talk quietly with him about what transpired. It is only when he has told her everything he can remember that she knows it's time for a distraction.

"How about you have a bath and some breakfast and then we shall retire to the garden for a while?" Alma suggest softly, ruffling his damp hair. "I should think your animal friends will appreciate the sun, today. Perhaps some play would be good for you."

...

"You knew he was peculiar, Alma." a stripe of black flutters across muted gray silk. "You are, perhaps, the only ymbryne with a biological child."

"It is not that, that concerns me." Alma rubs the delicately painted rosette on her China teacup, the lines of her thumb catching on the familiar texture. "There was a hollowghast in my son's room, this morning."

"Oh."

"I understand he was going to be peculiar." smoky blue eyes watch the little boy frolicking happily in a maze of lush greenery. "I knew that. But, I was unaware that such a young child would be forced to carry the burden of this peculiarity."

"Alma," Miss Avocet turns her head sharply, curls cascading around her shoulders in silky ribbons of silvery white and black. "Are you telling me that - ?"

"Yes," Alma's eyes are wet. "My son can see hollows, Miss Avocet."

"But he is only a boy of four." the older ymbryne has never heard of such thing. "Surely, it was just a shadow."

"He saw it. I am certain of it." Alma barely manages to keep her composure. "It was hiding in the darkest corner of his bedroom. Not a shadow to be found. But, he knew it was there. He described it, he - " tears stream, now, salt and heat and she struggles for control of her emotions. "Jacob said that it had a lot of tongues and that it was big. I have never told him about a hollowghast. If it was merely a shadow, I do not believe he could have described it. Children have imaginations but this - this was no imagined monster. I killed it. I heard it fall, I saw the shadow when daylight arrived."

"I believe you, Alma." Miss Avocet shifts, wrapping an arm around the younger ymbryne. "How will you deal with this development? The Council of Ymbrynes already suspects things. If they believe an ymbryne birthed a peculiar, they will surely want him."

"They will never have my child." Alma hardens instantly, fiercely protective of her child. "He is _my_ son. They can do all the tests they like on me but if they ever touch him, I will bring harm to them unlike anything they have known previously."

"But, how can you protect him from them?" Miss Avocet questions softly.

"By keeping his peculiarity from him." Alma is aware that it is risky - keeping a child's peculiarity a secret from the child. It is a rarely accomplished deception but Jacob is young enough not to realize what he saw, at least not for what his mother realizes it is. "Until he is old enough to be taught. I want what is best for my son, and right now, what is best is to let him be a child."

"Mama!" the four-year-old crashes into his mother's knees. "Look!"

"What is it, Jake?" she leans forward to tenderly examine the bunch of flowers in her son's hand. "Oh, those are lovely, little one."

"For you!"

Miss Avocet watches the tender smile that takes over Alma's face as she accepts the little bundle of Queen Anne's Lace from her son. Perhaps it is because she is the only ymbryne to have a biological child, or perhaps it is simply her strong maternal instincts, but whatever it is that makes Alma LeFay Peregrine such a beautiful mother, has also allowed her to form a deep, lasting bond with her son.

"Love you, Mama."

"Oh, I love you, too, my darling." Alma gathers him into her lap, gently touching the velvety flowers to his nose in a teasing manner.

Miss Avocet observes them for a moment. The soft eyes and hushed tones, hugs and kisses and giggles, a sacred and cherished bond between Alma and Jacob. Despite their powerful abilities, the manipulation of time, Jacob's second vision, they are first, and foremost, parent and child. But, Miss Avocet is left with little doubt in her mind that when he is old enough, Jacob Peregrine will be a force to be reckoned with.

Just like his mother.


End file.
